Hatred's Embers
by WittyNameHere1
Summary: The fires of hatred rarely simmer. Yet when a life is on the line, can hatred be stamped out before it consumes someone?
1. Chapter 1

**AN: **This series primarily stars original characters of mine and won't be any real "lore changing" stuff. In essence: if you're expecting some globetrotting, world saving adventure… this won't be it. Enjoy.

**Chapter 1: The Climb**

Anne Desrossiers grimaced. The normally calm and collected Gilnean stared angrily up at the sky. Wild winds swept raven black hair back in all directions, she'd tried tying it but that only proved a light reprieve from the fierce, biting winds of frostfire ridge. Of course, the winds were only the start of their troubles, judging solely by the small sprinkles of rain she could feel spattering lightly across her forehead.

"Rain." She stated bluntly, turning to the Tauren at her right. "We'll need to set up camp or find some kind of warm place to hold out, the cold can't be good for that cut."

The "cut" she was referencing was, in all truth, a massive gash that stretched from the top of her mentor's left pectoral down almost to his hip. Her mastery of healing magic was… insignificant, at least when it came to such massive wounds. The most she could do was clean it, bind it, and use what magic she could to bring the wound from something that would kill her mentor in a few minutes, to something that would kill him in a few days if left untreated by someone more skilled than she.

The Tauren lifted his eyes towards his student: two bright green orbs squinting awkwardly under a heavy coat of dirty white fur. He was old for his kind, yet to Anne he always seemed to move with a kind of jovial lightness that seemed almost unbecoming of his heavy frame. Now, however, he was hunched down and leaning against the side of the ridge they'd found themselves on. Draenor was a savage land, one that didn't tolerate the weak; they had to cross rough and uneven rock outcroppings, travelling aimlessly through what felt like an endless mountain range.

Thunder roared in the distance, followed not long after by a flash of lightning briefly illuminating dark and jagged peaks. The Tauren grimaced. "Just a bit further…" He told her… though to Anne's ears, he appeared to be saying it to himself. "Then if we cannot find a refuge, we'll look for shelter in the mountains… there's bound to be a cave or solid ground somewhere around here."

Anne shoved her hands into the pockets of her pants. She wasn't dressed for this kind of weather… then again, before they were discovered by those thrice-damned "Iron" Horde scouts, she'd expected them to take a rather leisurely stroll through Talador, collect some floral samples for the Cenarion Circle, then go home.

_Or as close to home as a backwater world with everything trying to murder you can be._ Anne realized that as long as those Orcs did what they did best (which was, of course, ruining entire worlds then blaming it on some fellow who 'told us to do it') she couldn't ever expect to be safe, even on Azeroth. She'd keep those thoughts to herself, of course; Anne had a sinking feeling that even sporting such a nasty wound from an Orc wouldn't be enough to dissuade her mentor from lecturing her on 'racism' or some similar nonsense.

"You look too tired for even a minute more, master." Anne said slowly, she reached her hand out; the pale flesh of her hand was rough, dry, and bleeding. Grasping onto his shoulder, her blue eyes focused on his. "You can lean on me… it'll make it easier."

Without giving the old Tauren a chance to respond, she brought a heavy arm over her head and onto her shoulder. It was moments like these that she was thankful for the added strength her… condition gave her. Her mentor could only groan out a mumbled "thank you"… she sincerely hoped it was his pride causing him to speak so low, rather than his health, but she knew that hopes rarely ever aligned with reality.

"The wind's picking up… let's get moving…" Anne said calmly, her voice showing none of the strain her body did as she began to walk with her mentor. It would be a steep climb and the 'path' they found looked to only grow narrower as they progressed through the peaks. She grimaced, uttering a quiet prayer that they'd find shelter in time…

…

The pair of Druids, however, would not be so fortunate. They would travel for a few more hours, long since given up finding any hope of civilization, instead what propelled them forward was the fact that travelling back the way they came only meant death would be certain. The rain worsened, the cold crept upon her starting at her toes… then moving upwards. Each step felt like a titanic effort, every inch of ground seemed to cause the mountains to grow larger and larger.

Eventually there was warmth, though; Anne felt it spreading throughout her body. It was as warm as a nice summer day! She giggled uncontrollably, her knees at last buckling and the heavy load on her back falling unmoving into the snow. Why did it feel so warm out? Did they climb so high up that they got closer to the sun? How did those thoughts even _begin_ to make sense?

No… thinking required to much energy. She was warm, she felt numb, and she was ever so tired too… she just needed her sleep…

She felt herself falling suddenly; or rather, it felt like the world was gradually floating away from her. She would be trapped down below in the darkness, but that was no concern of hers, she was too tired, too _weak_…

And then, there was a light. It flickered and burned, embers ascending high into the sky above her and creating twinkling like stars against the darkness. She knew what this was, but the name escaped her somehow…

_Fire…_ she at last remembered. As she remembered, the fire grew larger and larger, and though the darkness didn't recoil against the light, it was as though it was _consumed_ by the flames. Anne felt the recoil of her fall, the world seemed to return to her with the speed and force of an oncoming blow from some mighty weapon.

…

Her eyes opened first, she _saw_ but it took her mind a few seconds to _acknowledge_ that she was seeing. She wasn't dead and she certainly wasn't enveloped in darkness. Cold air rushed into her lungs, the Druid's bright blue eyes opening wide, she sat forward, feeling a strange sensation as warmth spread across her form and rocks tumbled over her skin. "E… eh… wh-what?" She looked down grasping one of the rocks. They were made of a strange black substance, yet the edges were radiating orange heat, almost reminding her of coal but with a smoother 'texture'.

"Well it looks like you didn't die on us." A rough voice responded, meanwhile Anne took in her surroundings: there was a large tent, a fire in the center, a hole for the smoke to escape through, and a figure sitting across from the fire. The figure had fierce eyes of a yellowish hue, the dancing flames made it hard to note any detailed features, but it was obvious that they were female and larger than most. The fur almost made Anne think it was a Worgen, but upon a few seconds of reflection, she realized the figure was merely wearing a heavy fur pelt for warmth.

"Did the cold get your brain or your manners first?" The figure asked, her voice getting impatient. "You've been starin' for a minute straight, thick-skull, you could at least give some thanks for not leavin' you to die out there."

Anne shook her head, groaning. "Right… sorry, sorry, I… I'm just a bit confused is all… t-thank you for your help miss…?" The figure leaned forward, a fierce grin on her face now.

"Durza. Durza Shattertusk." The old Orc woman's gaze bore into Anne's, while the Druid was still weak from her narrow encounter with death, she couldn't put up any real barrier. The Orc was able to see almost everything in those eyes… and it brought a snide grin to her face.

_So this is one of those 'humans', eh?_


	2. Chapter 2

**AN:** Right, so things are nice and "set up" now, can sort of get to the meat of the story, more dialogue and all. Enjoy.

**Chapter 2: Unintended Debts**

Not a word passed between the two once the initial greetings were had. Instead, silence accompanied darkness in suffocating all sense of comfort from the tent. Anne observed this 'Durza', and in her defense Durza was staring at her with an equal intensity.

From Anne's perspective, she saw an Orc that was far too cunning for its race. The woman's hair was greyed with, yet carefully braided and even decorated with a few beads. The fur coat was fairly simple: a skinned grey wolf drooping across her shoulders, the 'head' capable of being converted into a hood at a moment's notice. Below that there was a roughly woven tunic of dark blue cloth, with white lines travelling in sharp, angular patterns that Anne assumed would hold some grand meaning to… well, whatever arse-backwards inhabitants resided in this frozen pigsty. Below _that_ was a heavy belt that even Anne had to admit contained a kind of artistic quality to it. The belt seemed to be made of rough leather straps dyed separately,—to red, blue, white, and brown respectively—stitched together, and finally equipped with a large silver belt buckle that depicted a wolf howling into the air.

There was little else to notice that the clothes and hair didn't give away. The Orc had the uncorrupted brow skin of the Mag'har—although Anne was certain that "Mag'har" would be improper for a race that, in this timeline, never seriously developed a distinction between 'pure' and 'uncorrupted' subsets—and her hands were horribly calloused, the skin of her face was surprisingly still a bit youthful, with only a few bags under the eyes and some crow's feet to show any real signs of advanced age. From all of that together, Anne could surmise that the woman held some great authority in this clan; perhaps she was their Chieftess or an Elder of sorts?

From Durza's perspective, she was sitting across from a young, thick-skulled idiot. She knew nothing of what would constitute human standards of "beauty", and in truth she didn't care to know. This woman's skin was soft, hardly a muscle or a callous on it. Her eyes were of a deep blue hue and her skin was shockingly pale. Youthful freckles appeared on the woman's cheeks, in spite of her appearing to be in her twenties, and below those freckles were plump lips that would most likely be desirable to most men. The woman was smaller than most Orcs, weaker-looking too, this prompted a slight sneer from Durza.

_So these are the people that gave our kind such a fight? I wonder how weak this 'Azerothian Horde' truly is…_ She'd keep those thoughts to herself, however. It was her job to keep this village safe and picking fights with any of these new factions would accomplish nothing. "So, thick-skull, do you have a name or am I going to have to give you one? I deliver the newborns in this village, so I'm sure I have a list of names 'round here somewhere…"

An embarrassed flush crossed Anne's features, a scowl quickly forming itself. "Anne." She said sternly. "My name is Anne Desrossiers; I'm with the Cenarion Circle."

The Orc grunted, leaning back and tossing some clothes to the human, it was a rough leather tunic and pants; similar to Durza's… though lacking the wolfskin mantle. "Had to strip you outa' your old clothes and put 'em up to dry… I'm afraid I can't remember where, though."

Anne narrowed her eyes, glancing at the Orc, then back at the robes. Somewhere in this village, she was certain there was an Orc boy wearing her shirt as though it were a diaper. "Don't suppose it's a smart idea to ask how you got these in my size?" She raised her brow, inspecting the tunic.

Durza chuckled. "Took some quick tailoring, that and some measurements, for your sake and theirs I won't name who sized ya' up." Anne frowned, staring at the outfit for a while longer.

"You worried it'll hurt your dainty skin? Either wear that or walk 'round like a newborn babe." Durza stood, tapping her foot on the ground impatiently. The threat of being thrown to the rest of the village nude was enough to get Anne to quickly slip on the clothes.

With that done, the Orc went to the door of her hut, holding it open for the human. "C'mon, we have important things to discuss." Anne followed Durza out the door, covering her eyes from the sudden assault by sunlight across white banks of snow.

When her eyes adjusted, she could see a fairly large village, she suspected it was around a few hundred Orcs here. The 'road'—if such a thing _was_ a road—was made of dirt and the huts were sprinkled across the large plateau in an utterly disorganized matter. Orcs went about their business, some carrying wood and others tools. They stopped only to stare at the strange new 'guest' that was walking alongside their Elder. They were isolated and rarely encountered others… even a race as 'similar' as a human could look extremely alien to such people.

Anne let the odd looks slide, her hands folded behind her back and her head turned to Durza. "I was just wondering, is the man I was with…" she winced a bit at the thought. "Well… is he alive?"

Durza nodded, "For now. That's actually what I was hopin' to ask you about."

Anne grimaced, _"For now"? If this bloody… demi-human wench thinks she can threaten—_That thought would be put on hold as Durza issued something between a request and a threat.

"We have our traditions and they say we can't turn away any stranger in need of help… yet I'm in charge here and I realize that keeping my people safe comes first and foremost… helping both of you drains what little resources we have here… and judging by his wounds and the fact you were wandering around our mountains… I'm guessing you're on the run, eh?" Durza gave Anne a knowing look.

"My apologies for being a burden, but it was never our intention too—" Once more, she was interrupted.

"I don't care what your intent was, to be honest I don't even want to know. What matters is you're here and if you want to go back to wherever you came from… you're gonna need to help us." They stopped walking, Durza turned towards Anne, arms crossed over chest.

Anne shoved her hands into the pockets of the tunic, considering. "And what would you have me do?" Her eyes were hard and her voice was cold. "Hunt? Collect firewood? What?"

Durza gave her a fierce grin. "I'd expect all of those things and more, if you expect us to look after that friend of yours." She put a rough hand on Anne's shoulder, the druid felt the strong urge to swipe it away, but resisted the temptation… for now. "First and foremost, though, I want some information… and you're going to tell me _everything_ you know. Horde, 'Alliance', Iron Horde… knowing what's happening outside of our mountains is, as far as I see, the most valuable thing we can get from that brain of yours."

The druid was quite for a few more seconds, "Alright." She responded, her voice low. "I'll tell you anything you need to know."

_But…_ Anne thought, clenching her hands into a fist. _If you're lying to me… if he's dead and you had some hand in it… then I'll do anything I can to ruin this little village and you along with it, Orc. I won't forget this… disgusting humiliation._


End file.
